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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083113">No More Monkeys Jumping On the Bed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies'>AppalachianApologies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Appalachian is back on her whumpy bullshit :D, Caring Hotch, Dad Hotch, Episode: s04e24 Amplification, Fluff, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, I will make that a tag if it's the last thing I do, I'm so happy that's a tag lmao, Panic, Panic Attacks, SO MUCH FLUFF, Spencer Reid Whump, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump, Whumptober 2020, and, anthrax - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:13:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Having panic attacks after anthrax just tried to kill Spencer isn't an ideal situation.</p><p>Day 18: Panic Attacks</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948174</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No More Monkeys Jumping On the Bed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Hi! I hope you're all doing well :) Before the story begins I just wanted to say thank you to all of you lovely people for all the support you've given me on this series &lt;3 I appreciate each and every one of you!</p><p>Enjoy! :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spencer had been in the hospital after Tobias, and after the fiasco with Cyrus in Colorado, but he had never been admitted. Of course both of those times he didn’t have anthrax attempting to make a home in his lungs, so he figures the hospital stay might be granted now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t mean he has to like it though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nasal cannula isn’t quite scratchy, but it still bothers him. The oxygen tastes and smells old, like it’s been frozen and thawed out six times. And the scratchy bandages across his hand certainly doesn’t help either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least he gets Jell-O, one of his favorite textured foods. Little victories, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Kimura checks in on him every twelve hours, listening to his lungs, listening to his heart, and Spencer just wants it all to end. He’s tired of laying in the hospital bed like he’s dying. He found the cure. He’s not dying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep him on oxygen though, no matter how much Spencer complains. It just doesn’t taste right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t sleep on his side without messing up all of the monitors, and he can’t fall asleep on his back, even though his body is exhausted. He’d like nothing more than to fall asleep if his droopy eyelids are anything to go by, but he just can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, Morgan is replaced by Hotch, eyebrows pinned in concern. Hotch looks at him like if he looks away Spencer will die. If Spencer’s being honest, he can’t really blame the older man. He knows how close to dying he got in the ambulance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aphasia and respiratory distress will no doubt plague his nightmares for days to come. Spencer’s glad he was able to shoo Morgan away before he saw that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid,” Hotch pulls Spencer out of his thoughts. “Try and get some sleep. We’re going to try and get you released tomorrow, and then back to the Quantico Doctors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer makes a face. “I’m not done with doctors yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not with a new strain of anthrax, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m cured,” Spencer points out, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t know any of the side effects of this strain. We’re completely in the unknown,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a huff, Spencer replies, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“If</span>
  </em>
  <span> there are any side effects. Maybe there aren’t any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid.” Hotch sighs. “You know as well as the rest of us that we can’t just be naive and assume you’re going to be back to normal in a few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer sucks in a breath. Because that’s what he’s been doing for the past twenty four hours. Assuming that everything will go back to normal, and this entire anthrax case could just be forgotten. He’s a man of science. He should know, better than the rest of his team, that being naive won’t help him. “Yeah, well,” He weakly replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer just wants to be back to normal. As normal as Spencer Reid gets, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want things to go back to normal too,” Hotch admits. “But we have to be smart about this. We just don’t know any lasting symptoms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the hand without the IV, Spencer rubs his face. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving him a weak smile, Hotch reiterates, “Try and get some sleep. I’m sure it’ll help, and I’ll wake you up when Doctor Kimura does her rounds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer nods. “Thanks,” Before pulling the hospital blanket up to his chin, trying to warm his body from the cold and evil hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are hands, hands of the victims that he’ll never save, all reaching out for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer shies away from the touch, but their grabby hands still find his skin. When Spencer tries to curl in on himself, the hands pull him back. Some of them touch his hair, and others grab for his naked feet, making room for Charles and his sticks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With strength that could rival Morgan, Spencer is able to push through all of the hands. The bodies follow him, though. Flowers of blood blooming in their chests and foreheads, stumbling along until they can grasp onto Spencer ankles, pushing him back to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles gives him a wicked smile, holding up a branch from a tree that Spencer’s mind automatically starts spewing facts about. Like how oak trees can survive up to one thousand years, standing tall of all of them, scattering ten million acorns across the land. He wonders how far up Charles had to go to get the branch, because they can grow up to one hundred and fifty feet tall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer thinks that using an oak branch is fitting. Oak trees have been on Earth far longer than nearly anything else on this planet. Sixty five million years of evolution, just to create a branch to beat Spencer with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s rather,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles beats his foot, smack after smack, and all of the lost victims watch with awe. A few cheer him on, voices garbled as if they’re underwater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer thinks about how the population of oak trees are slowly dwindling. If they continue to follow their curve, soon enough there won’t be any branches to beat Spencer with. He silently decides that he’d rather be beat every day then lose all of the oak trees on the planet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not his choice though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, instead, he will continue to get beaten, and once he dies, the oak trees will die out with him. So yes, it’s rather fitting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles agrees, as he continues to beat him over, and over, and over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smack after smack, and after he gets bored with Spencer’s feet he moves to his chest, hitting him until Spencer’s chest is as bloody as the dead victims watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few of them join in, until he’s the main event. Hands and fists no longer grabbing him, but instead killing him. Spencer tries to fight back, he really does, but it’s a sisyphean task. As soon as he gets off one hand, two more replace it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer lets his head drop, embracing the beating he so desperately deserves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer wakes with a gasp, attempting to find the fists that were killing him not even a second ago. Someone puts their hand on his shoulder, and he instantly jumps away, smacking their wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid, stop, it’s just me. It’s Hotch, no one’s hurting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer pushes himself into the pillows, still trying to get away from the victims. Someone must surely be choking him now, because he can’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And oh god, oh god, oh god, he can’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He claws at his own throat, attempting to pull off the invisible hands trying to kill him, but he can’t find them. Something’s on his face, and he tears it off, still attempting to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each breath seems to catch in his chest, unable to make it all of the to his lungs, and it burns. His insides feel like they’re on fire, and Spencer wonders if this is what it feels like to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he doesn’t have to wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer knows what it’s like to die. He knows the exact feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warmth beckoning to him, the peacefulness finally taking his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More hands find their way on his chest, and Spencer uses all of his weak muscles to push them away, but they’re incessant. Just in his nightmare, as soon as he shoves one hand away, two more take its place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid!” The voice comes back again. “Stop struggling, they’re trying to help you. You’re not dreaming anymore, but you’re going to hurt yourself if you continue,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recognizing the voice, Spencer begs, “Get them off of me, Hotch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing, Hotch tries, “Spencer. Listen to me. They’re just doctors, okay? You need oxygen, and that’s all they’re trying to do,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please!” Reid begs, eyes clenching shut, “Don’t let them touch me,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Hotch. Please,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause, until he hears Hotch talk in hushed tones. On a normal day, Spencer would be able to interpret his quiet voice, but today isn’t exactly a good day for the genius.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then finally, finally, the hands withdraw from his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer gasps out in relief, except the gasp doesn’t go through like it should, and suddenly he’s bobbing for air like a fish. His breathing turns into broken sobs and cries for air, and no matter how hard he tries, Spencer can’t do anything to accept the oxygen into his lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid, listen to my voice, okay?” Hotch asks, and Spencer wants to scream at him that he can’t breathe, but at this point he figures that it’s fairly obvious. “I have an oxygen mask for you, okay? I’m going to put it on your face and it’s going to feel weird for a second, but I promise it’s going to help you. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through tears, Spencer nods yes, reaching out to hold the plastic once it’s over his nose and mouth. He tries to take in as much precious oxygen as he can, but something still isn’t working correctly, and it feels like none of it is actually going in his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch keeps his hand on Spencer’s, attempting to ground him, but it doesn’t help enough. Tears continue to fall down his face as his chest tightens with every gasp, burning through his soft tissue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone’s telling him to breathe, and he wants to scream and shout that if he could, breathing is all he would be doing. Instead, his body forms a mutiny and seems to do everything but breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logically, he knows he’s panicking. He knows that the horrid pain in his chest is because of his own brain, but Spencer can’t get himself to stop. He can’t find the trigger to his fear, and without that, he’s just stuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He begins to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen, and that just scares him further. He’s stuck in a vicious cycle of fear making him panic, panic causing him to breathe less oxygen, and the lack of oxygen causing more fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer just wants it to end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to forget about this entire damned case and be back in his apartment, completely anthrax free, without any hand wounds, and without the fear of lasting aphasia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly, his body seems to finally get the memo. As if daydreaming of better life spurred him into action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps it’s because they turned his oxygen up and pumped him full of drugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever it may be, Spencer is grateful for it. His muscles finally loosen, and Hotch’s hand replaces his own when it slips down his face until it rests on his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer can tell he’s still hyperventilating, but it’s not as bad as it was before. Or at least, it doesn’t feel as bad as it was before. Incidentally, nothing feels as bad as it did before. Right now, everything seems… just… right. Everything in the world around him seems to be calming him down, soothing him into a nice lullaby of peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Take a deep breath of precious oxygen, Spencer sighs when he’s able to puff out CO2. Everything is as it should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer gets woken up by Hotch, a hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Otch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor Kimura is here to listen to your lungs, Reid. Can you sit up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes, Spencer nods, “Mmhm.” When he pushes his hands down to hold himself up, Hotch moves to support his upper body, and ends up taking most of his weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stethoscope finds its way along a path on Spencer back, stopping eight different times, before coming all of the way back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling, Doctor Reid?” Kimura asks, wrapping her stethoscope around her shoulders once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch gently lays him back down, and Spencer answers, “Mm. Okay. ‘Feel floaty,” Turning to Hotch, rather than his doctor, he questions, “Why do I feel floaty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were given a light sedative,” Kimura answers. “It’ll ease it’s way off your body soon enough.” She adds with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a narcotic, though?” Spencer asks, eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a narcotic.” Hotch confirms with a tight smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nod, Spencer turns back to Kimura. “When will I be able to go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably tomorrow morning,” She replies, taking a glance at the clock in his private room. “As long as you go visit your primary care doctor every week for at least the next month to make sure you aren’t experiencing any long lasting symptoms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer makes a face, before acknowledging, “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a smile, Kimura adds, “You’re looking really good right now though. It seems like the cure put a stop to all symptoms. None of the other surviving patients have had any other side effects either.” And with that, Kimura turns to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer knows she means it to be comforting, but her last comment just reminds Spencer that he wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t fast enough to save the majority of the infected civilians. And that’s on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was the only one in the house. If he was just a tiny bit faster, less people would have to bury their loved ones. He sighs, attempting to turn to his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid,” Hotch says, interrupting his thought process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can tell that you’re thinking. What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer takes a long breath in and out, before answering, “I’m not sure. I think I’m just tired.” It’s not a complete lie anyway. He is tired. The only problem is he can’t tell if it's mental or physical exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he’s just all around exhausted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, as if reading his mind, Hotch stops his thought process once again. “You did good, Reid. You know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a pinched smile, Spencer agrees, “Yeah,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saved a lot of people,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I let a lot more die.” Spencer finishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch quickly shakes his head. “No, Reid. Their deaths aren’t on your hands. You’re not the one that exposed them to anthrax, were you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, of course not,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Hotch points out, “But you were the one to find the cure. You saved the lives of many people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer nods, still not quite accepting that fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks down, Hotch just sighs. “Do you want to try and get more rest? You do look tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than answer his question, Spencer asks one of his own. “Why do I have an oxygen mask on? I thought my lungs were doing fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are. It’s just a precaution.” Hotch muses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Hotch questions, “Do you remember having a panic attack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer looks down at his hands. “Oh. Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ordinarily it wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but with your lungs so weak, it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Spencer interrupts, not exactly wanting to hear more. It’s no surprise to anyone on the team that Spencer’s embarrassed by his panic attacks. They all know that he tends to blame himself for things in his mind, even his headaches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding that he may as well have this conversation with plenty of oxygen on standby, Hotch quietly states, “I thought you weren’t having many panic attacks lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t.” Spencer answers, but too quick to be the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t?” Hotch asks with raised eyebrows, “Or you’re just getting better at hiding it from the team?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer looks up quickly, taken aback by Hotch’s bluntness. However he ends up looking to a spot on the wall beside the older man’s shoulder, rather than his eyes. “Hotch,” He complains, but doesn’t know where he’s going with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid, you promised that you’d tell me about these things,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not affecting my work,” Spencer quickly supplies, “And- and it won’t start affecting my work, I promise. I’m keeping them in check,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Hotch admits, “That’s what I’m worried about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch spends a few seconds formulating how he wants to continue, before he starts, “Reid, I’m not worried about how well you work, okay? You’ve been an asset for this team since the day you joined, and I don’t ever worry about the amount of labor you do for us, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer makes a face, before questioning, “Then why…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not worried about the job, Reid.” Hotch spells it out, “I’m worried about you.” Before Spencer can argue, Hotch quickly continues, “When did you start hiding your anxiety from us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it really matter?” Spencer asks in a quiet voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Hotch instantly replies, before bothe men become silent for a pregnant pause. Neither know how to continue the conversation, and Hotch wants to beat himself up for letting Spencer slip through his radar once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought that the younger agent had been getting better, learning that it was okay to share things with the team, but he realizes that the profiler had just been putting up a facade. He, out of all people, should’ve realized it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still taking your medication?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hotch, I really don’t want to talk about this right now,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the Unit Chief isn’t deterred. “Reid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m still taking my medication,” He dully answers, index finger and thumb rubbing the thin hospital sheet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Hotch questions, “Is it not helping you anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raising his shoulders, Spencer mutters, “What do you want me to say, Hotch? That I’m still having panic attacks? That panic disorders are a lifelong illness? That I wake up from nightmares 93.5% of the nights that I’m even able to fall asleep?” As soon as it gets out, Spencer immediately regrets it. He rubs a hand over his face, making a face when it hits the oxygen mask still on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch is silent for a long moment, setting Spencer on edge, until he quietly notes, “Reid. Spencer. Why didn’t you tell me it got this bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need a babysitter,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hotch agrees, “But you needed a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer swallows. “Yeah, well. You all have lives. I’m pretty sure none of you would appreciate calls at three in morning from a panicked government agent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can always call me, Reid,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you say that now,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch frowns. “When did we lose your trust?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer mimics his frown, and protests, “You haven’t lost my trust. I just don’t want to be a bother,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid, you’re never a bother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer just huffs as a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid, look at me.” He waits until the younger man complies, and doesn’t comment on the fact that Spencer is looking a few inches above his forehead, rather than at his eyes. “You’re not ever a bother or any annoyance. You’re part of this team, and we worry about you,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like a child,” He agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like family.” Hotch corrects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer sighs. “Hotch-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can no doubt start a tangent on why he shouldn’t be cared for, Hotch interrupts him. “The team is a family, is it not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re part of it,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reid, stop interrupting and let me finish,” Spencer hunches down, as if he just got called out by a teacher. “Just because you’re the youngest agent doesn’t mean we see you like a child,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morgan literally calls me a kid,” Spencer points out, turning back to the hospital blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch just smiles. “He does. But you have a perfect memory, so tell me, Reid. Where did ‘kid’ come from? What did it start out as?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer bites the inside of his cheek, before he confesses, “Kid brother. Morgan used to call me his kid brother, and when that got too long he began just calling me kid,” Anxious, Spencer continues, “Which actually makes more sense, because ‘kid brother’ has more syllables than ‘Spencer,’ and the whole point of a nickname is to shorten a name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Continuing his rare smile, Hotch muses, “You’re part of the family, Reid. And we all want to know when you’re struggling. Not because that makes you weak, but because we care. We don’t want you to suffer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer stays still, seemingly pondering the possibilities of Hotch’s statement. Eventually, he settles on the fact that the older man is telling the truth. He ultimately confesses, “I guess I’m just not used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know,” Hotch nods. “And we know it’s hard to get used to. It was the same for me, when I first joined the BAU.” He admits, which catches Spencer’s attention. Hotch is usually the last one to talk about his past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing his lips to one side, Spencer eventually asks, “How long did it take for you to get used to it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To get used to what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People caring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence before Hotch eventually confesses, “I think I’m still getting used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spencer nods, before adding in, “I wasn’t necessarily trying to keep my anxiety from you. I just didn’t want you to worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re all going to worry about you no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an awkward half chuckle half huff, Spencer acknowledges, “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Are you going to start telling us when it gets bad now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing, Spencer answers, “I think so. Yeah. I’m going to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch pats Spencer’s leg through the blanket. “I’m glad. It’ll get easier, you know. Having people care about you.” He clarifies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless, Spencer thanks Hotch again. The duo sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Spencer surprises both of them when he speaks up. “Hey, Hotch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s getting bad. My anxiety is getting bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, Hotch answers, “Thank you for telling me, Reid.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I needed fluff in my life, okay? So you know what I did? I made this fic a thousand words longer just to put in more fluff xD It had been a second since I wrote Dad Hotch, and I was going through withdrawals, so I just had to write some more lmao</p><p>As always, I love talking with you all, and you can come talk with me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies">tumblr</a> (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D</p><p>I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)</p><p>National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255<br/>National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673<br/>National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233</p><p>If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines">international hotlines.</a><br/>You are not alone, and I love you all &lt;3</p><p>Much love to all of you, and take care until tomorrow!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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